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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27686216">'cause you weren't mine to lose</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmylm/pseuds/tmylm'>tmylm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pitch Perfect (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bechloe AU, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, bechloe - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:47:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27686216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmylm/pseuds/tmylm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Back in college, Beca was so in love with Chloe Beale. She never told her, though. She never told anyone. So, when Chloe shows up, years later, on Beca’s doorstep, drunk out of her mind after a bad breakup, Beca is not going to turn her away. She does the decent thing and invites her in to get sobered up…</p><p>The next morning, she realizes she maybe should’ve just heard her out last night.
</p>
<p>Title from Taylor Swift's <i>August</i>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>188</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. layin’ down would be in vain, i can’t sleep with you on my brain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Chapter title from Sam Hunt's <i>Leave The Night On</i>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beca’s bedroom, small in real-world size, yet surprisingly spacious for a twenty-something living in New York City on Beca’s limited budget, is generally cluttered and overcrowded at the best of times.</p><p>(Okay, so maybe ‘twenty-something’ should really be ‘almost-thirty’, but Beca will cling onto this last year of her twenties as tightly as possible until someone pries it from her cold, dead hands.)</p><p>If you were to ask Beca, she would say that she simply knows where everything is, and that it is decorated exactly to her taste. In reality, however, organization is really not her strong suit, but that is neither here nor there. It is <em>clean</em>, that is all that matters.</p><p>On evenings like this one, though, with whirlwind-Connie cramped in, too—because <em>getting ready together is all a part of the fun, Beca</em>—she realizes that it could certainly stand something of a quick clear-out every now and again.</p><p>“Shit,” Connie murmurs under her breath. Despite her valiant attempt at a quiet volume, Connie has never been the most discreet of people; Beca doesn’t even have to look her way to know exactly what she is doing.</p><p>“Spilled again?” Beca questions without even a courtesy glance upward. She is busy carefully applying her eyeliner in the full-length mirror fastened not quite safely enough to her closet door, but she can see Connie from the corner of her eye, grasping for the nearest crumpled tee.</p><p>“Just...decorating the carpet,” Connie jokes, dabbing quickly at the spilled beer with one of the shirts that didn’t quite make its aim into the laundry hamper, as if it is simply a cleaning rag.</p><p>Fortunately, Beca doesn’t care; she simply rolls her eyes, focus remaining on her makeup application. She winces, however, when the music blaring from the speaker behind her suddenly rises to an ear-splitting volume. And Beca likes music—she lives and breathes it, in fact—but she also kind of likes having working, intact eardrums, so the crumpled expression on her face, she feels, is entirely valid.</p><p>“Do we really have to have it that loud?” she yells over the obnoxious vibrations of the baseline.</p><p>“Uh, yeah,” Connie deadpans, standing somewhat unsteadily on her high heels with her beer bottle clutched tightly in her hand, unnecessary amount of rings lining her fingers shimmering through the glass. Beca can see her in the mirror’s reflection, she can see the short, tight-fitting dress she is wearing, and knows right away that Connie is in full party mode already. “Look, if we don’t piss off Mrs. Michaelson at least once a week, we’re practically failing.”</p><p>Although Beca shoots her a scowl, she cannot help but eventually mirror Connie’s smug expression. Their neighbor really is kind of a dick, after all.</p><p>“Looking good, by the way,” Beca comments, stretching behind herself to tap the speaker’s volume down button a couple times. Connie scoffs, but she doesn’t protest, and proceeds to make her way swiftly toward Beca’s open closet.</p><p>“Thank you, grandma,” she nods, beginning to skim through Beca’s collection of going out clothes with her free hand. She doesn’t miss a single beat before adding, “And you’re not wearing that.”</p><p>It is Beca’s turn to scoff this time, though in reality, she doesn’t actually mind. It is an interesting set up they have here, her and Connie. They are polar opposites; Connie, clinging even more tightly to twenty-nine than Beca is, is loud and vibrant, outgoing and optimistic, while Beca is much more on the reserved side. While Beca would happily wear her current ensemble of skinny jeans and a cami to the club—it is at least a <em>fancy</em> camisole, Beca will argue—Connie is all about sleek, tight-fitting dresses, the more skin on display, the better.</p><p>She doesn’t mind letting Connie dress her, doesn’t hate the idea of really letting loose quite as much as she pretends to. It has been something of a stressful week, after all. Work has been hectic yet somehow <em>still</em> entirely unfulfilling, and she and Scott have been snapping at one another maybe a little too much as of late. Beca needs tonight, she needs to just...live.</p><p>“What about this?” Connie questions, eventually pulling a sleek, dark purple romper from Beca’s largely black collection.</p><p>Beca eyes it for a moment, expression somewhat skeptical to begin with, before eventually shrugging a shoulder. She reaches out a hand just in time to catch the garment before it lands unceremoniously on her head.</p><p>“Don’t you think this is kind of nice?” Connie says in something of a dreamy tone as she shuffles toward the bed, neatly perching herself down on the edge of the mattress. She takes a quick swig from her almost empty bottle, before setting it down with a small thud on the bedside table, then immediately helps herself to the already packed bowl sitting in the top drawer. “Nights out without the guys? I mean, they’re fine and all,” Connie shrugs nonchalantly as she retrieves a lighter, “But it’s so annoying when they hover.”</p><p>Beca’s quiet chuckle as she stands to begin tugging off her current outfit earns her a grin from Connie before she settles the mouthpiece between her lips. “You could just break up with Jay, you know? I mean, it’s not like you guys are married or whatever.” She cuts Connie a look, before her face disappears behind the fabric of her cami.</p><p>“No, I know,” Connie says after a long inhale, “I don’t wanna break up with him, I just like my space sometimes.” She pouts. “I like a night with the girls.”</p><p>Beca understands. Honestly, she feels the same way about Scott. These past few months of calling him her boyfriend have been...an experience. She cares about him—he is her boyfriend, of course she cares about him—but she would be lying if she were to say she believed him to be the love of her life. He is much clingier than she is; Beca likes her space sometimes, too.</p><p>This is something of a routine conversation by this point, the kind they have often. How Connie and Jackson have made it through the years they have, Beca truly does not know… She just knows that Connie needs tonight, too. So, she won’t comment.</p><p>“<em>So</em> much better,” Connie grins as she watches Beca tug the zipper of her romper into place. Beca glances upward in time to see Connie holding the bowl out toward her, and easily accepts. “If I liked girls, I’d totally do you.”</p><p>All Beca does is fondly roll her eyes, before bringing the mouthpiece to her lips. Evidently, it is going to be one of <em>those</em> nights.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Hitting up New York City clubs is always a surefire way to make Beca feel older than she actually is. There is something entirely disconcerting about the image of perfectly toned twenty-one year olds with their brand new ID’s draping themselves across the bar while Beca resists the urge to unattractively hike up her underwear in her uncomfortable outfit, but at least she is not alone.</p><p>Already, the tiny living room in her and Connie’s apartment is crammed with a group of their close friends—other almost-thirty year olds desperately clinging to the remainder of their twenties—and Beca finds, as she studies everybody’s already tipsy pregame behavior, that she is incredibly grateful for this specific bunch of weirdos.</p><p>“When are we leaving?” Stacie pouts impatiently as she eyes her empty plastic wine glass. Pregaming is fun, sure, but everybody is clearly ready to get out there and <em>really</em> begin their night.</p><p>Beca glances at her own beer bottle, inside of which is perhaps one full sip left at best, and casually shrugs a shoulder. “Uh, we can head out now, I think?” Her gaze does a quick sweep of the room. “Everyone’s here, right?”</p><p>Connie, always ready to rally, straightens out the tight skirt of her dress as she rises from her position on the floor, stiffened legs stretching out in the process. “Yeah, I just have to pee, then let’s do this!”</p><p>The thick air circulating the apartment holds a sickeningly distinct scent of weed, perfume and alcohol as everybody throws back the remainder of their drinks, but Beca will worry about cleaning everything up tomorrow. For now, she is happily buzzed and a little more than mildly high, so she is very much ready to get out and enjoy her Friday night.</p><p>Despite the hum of various conversations, as someone eventually silences the music, Beca registers the obnoxious sound of loud thudding at the door. It is met by a chorus of disgruntled groans and a collective eye roll—it really was too good to be true, the thought that they had made it through an entire pregame session without at least <em>one</em> appearance from Mrs. Michaelson.</p><p>“Does she just, like, live to ruin your lives?” Rosa scoffs almost petulantly, before projecting her voice toward the door. “We’re leaving in a minute, Mrs. Michaelson!”</p><p>There is a brief pause, before the loud knocking repeats. Initially, Beca considers ignoring it—she is positive her obnoxious neighbor will still be there when they head out—though eventually hands the joint she is in the middle of finishing to the nearest person, before shuffling lazily toward the door.</p><p>“We really are just about to leave, Mrs. M,” Beca says in something of an apologetic—and incredibly rehearsed—tone as she tugs open the door. Although her eyes may be a little unfocused to begin with, the sight she is met with, the sight that is very much <em>not</em> Mrs. Michaelson, causes her lids to shoot further open.</p><p>Beca may be slightly buzzed, may be a little high, but neither so much that she would start to literally hallucinate. However, that is her first thought as she takes in the image of familiar red hair and bright, watery eyes, only illuminated further by the backdrop of the plain white wall behind her. In spite of her mild intoxication, the very sight is incredibly sobering, and Beca finds herself momentarily frozen to the spot. Eventually, she cautiously utters, in a tone that she considers entirely dumb, “...Chloe?”</p><p>Her surprise visitor’s shoulders slump in the most defeated way, and Beca can tell by the misplaced mascara beneath her eyes that she has been crying. “I didn’t know if I had the right address,” Chloe’s high-pitched, tear-laced voice squeaks in place of a greeting.</p><p>Beca has tried to tell herself over the years that it was not intentional, the way she lost touch with her college roommate after graduation. People lose touch, they just...do, and it does not have to be intentional, the fact that Beca never tried to actively reconnect. The last she heard, Chloe was living in Jersey, she was doing well, and that was always enough for Beca. She always told herself it was enough, anyway.</p><p>As she stares at her now, though, loose jaw hanging open slightly, it is like no time has passed at all. It is like she saw Chloe Beale just last week, like she is not somebody who might as well be a total stranger to her by this point. Beca doesn’t actually realize that she is staring, not until a heavy hand lands abruptly against her shoulder, pulling her back to the present.</p><p>“Who’s this?” Connie questions brightly, though pauses as she takes in Chloe’s disheveled appearance. “Oh, shit, dude, are you okay?”</p><p>The question causes Chloe’s lip to quiver, and Beca has a feeling that the redness puffing up her eyes is not solely from her tears. “This is a bad time, isn’t it?” Chloe says in a defeated voice, not-so-sober gaze moving briefly over Beca’s shoulder and toward the various other occupants of the small living room.</p><p>It is like something from a movie, like that scene in <em>Love Actually</em> when the Prime Minister shows up at Natalie’s door at an incredibly inopportune time, the way her friends have congregated behind her with their heels on and purses in hand, ready to vacate the building.</p><p>“Uh, Bec?” Connie prompts, using the hand still resting against Beca’s shoulder to gently shake her back to reality. “Who’s your friend?”</p><p>Almost as if just remembering her manners, Chloe sniffs back further tears. “Oh, hi,” she says with a forced smile, holding her hand out toward Connie, who takes it somewhat gingerly. “I’m Chloe. Beca’s old roommate.”</p><p>“Connie… Current roommate,” Connie responds, and Beca cannot tell exactly what Connie is thinking, but she knows there is <em>something</em> going on in her mildly intoxicated mind.</p><p>“Yo, are we going?” a voice calls from the back of the group. Who it is is really anyone’s guess; they could be a perfect stranger, for all Beca knows, someone not even in the apartment. It is difficult for her to properly register her surroundings with such a prominent ghost from her past standing in her doorway.</p><p>“This is a bad time,” Chloe eventually answers her own question, bottom lip tugging in between pearly teeth. Quickly, she wipes beneath her eyes, before taking an unsteady step backward. “Sorry, I was just leaving.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Connie questions skeptically. Beca can see her from the corner of her eye, staring Chloe down quizzically. “You look… kind of like you shouldn’t be going anywhere.”</p><p>“Yeah, no, it’s—” Chloe forces a laugh—Beca can tell that it is forced, that it is not Chloe’s usual, melodic giggle, even now. “It’s fine. Really.” Her words are slurred as she continues to walk slowly backward, almost stumbling in the process. Fortunately, she steadies herself, but Beca cannot help but wince in a way that looks like she is ready to lunge forward and catch her. “You all enjoy your night, okay? I’ll just—”</p><p>“No,” Beca shakes her head, evidently finding her voice again. Her dramatic reaction to an old friend is entirely pathetic, she quickly realizes as she pulls herself from her apparent stupor. “No, uh,” she pauses, turning to address Connie, “Hey, you guys go ahead, okay? I’m gonna…” she motions discreetly toward Chloe.</p><p>“Yeah, sure, of course,” Connie nods, fingers gently squeezing onto Beca’s shoulder and voice quieting slightly. For all of her crazy, Connie really has always been the protective friend, the kind Beca will pretend she doesn’t need, but that, in reality, she absolutely does. “You good?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Beca promises, stepping aside to make more room in the doorway. Instinctively, Chloe does the same, before Beca’s friends begin to filter out. They are much quieter now than they had been only moments before.</p><p>“What’s going on?” she hears someone murmur in passing, though just shoots everybody a polite smile, the same way Chloe does. Connie is the last one out of the door, and quietly instructs Beca to call her if she needs her, before disappearing along behind everybody else with a brief final glance over her shoulder.</p><p>In comparison to the loud pregame chatter from before, there is something of a deafening quiet radiating between the two of them as the elevator door closes and Beca brings her focus toward a quietly crying Chloe, whose attempted happy facade has fallen easily.</p><p>“Dude, what’s going on?” Beca finally asks with an air of concern as she takes a step forward, instinctively reaching out to touch Chloe’s arm. “You’re shivering. Come on, come in.”</p><p>It is not until she sees her in the brighter light of the compact apartment that Beca gets a real look at Chloe’s appearance. Out in the hallway, she could tell that she had been crying, she could hear it in her voice, but in here, Beca can really <em>see</em> the severity of her distress. Chloe is wearing a short dress; the floaty material, laden with patterned floral print, makes her look much more sophisticated than Beca does in her slightly-too-tight purple romper. Smudged makeup aside, there is something much more mature to Chloe’s look in general; she doesn’t have the same baby face Beca remembers from college, and her previously long red curls now stop just below her shoulder.</p><p>A brief glance downward, however, quickly shatters the sophisticated illusion.</p><p>“Is that… Did you fall over or something?” Beca questions with a wrinkled nose as she takes in the dirt on Chloe’s knees.</p><p>“That’s the least—” Chloe begins with a sarcastic chuckle, but before she gets the chance to finish her sentence, her hand has risen to clamp over her mouth.</p><p>Beca’s eyes widen as she watches the color instantly drain from Chloe’s previously rosy cheeks. “Oh, uh,” she points in the right direction, “Bathroom’s that way. Chlo, please don’t throw up on the floor,” Beca whines as she gently nudges Chloe toward the hallway.</p><p>Fortunately, Chloe makes it to the bathroom, though apparently does not quite have the time to close the door, before loudly emptying part of the evening’s alcohol consumption into the toilet.</p><p>Beca isn’t actively trying to listen, but it is difficult to drown out the sound of Chloe’s puking amidst the otherwise silent apartment. She takes a moment to glance up toward the ceiling, hands planting impatiently on her hips, and silently asks herself what the fuck is going on.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Beca’s head has begun to spin by the time Chloe reemerges from the bathroom with a towel clutched in her hands and an apologetic look on her face. There is a brief pause, a moment of shared...<em>something</em> between them, before she quietly says, “I ruined your night.” Somehow, her words are now more slurred than they had been before. Chloe lifts the towel toward her eyes, patting at the fallen tears beneath her lids, and it is clear she is attempting to shake the sadness from her voice. It is a failed attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. “You look really pretty, Bec.”</p><p>There was a time, granted it feels like a long time ago now, that a compliment from Chloe Beale would cause Beca’s pale cheeks to instantly redden. Now, she simply licks over her lips, the taste of her recently applied lipstick bitter against her tongue, and eyes Chloe’s crumpled expression with concern. She wants to thank her, to politely respond in some way, but instead she finds herself asking in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, “Chlo, what’s going?”</p><p>The simple question is all it takes to cause Chloe’s already shaky defenses to fall, to bring a puddle of salty liquid springing back to her wide eyes. And Beca wants to reach out, wants to offer her comfort of some kind, but Beca has never been the most physically affectionate of people. So, she stays put, watches Chloe with her teeth gently sinking into her bottom lip in both helplessness and concern.</p><p>“It’s really stupid,” Chloe says in a choked up voice, arms wrapping protectively around her middle. “Keira and I…” she pauses briefly, head shaking gently as she stares up at the ceiling, evidently trying to force back her already falling tears. Beca doesn’t know who Keira is, but she can take a wild guess as Chloe continues. “We’re always fighting lately. Always. And tonight was supposed to… It’s our anniversary, it was supposed to just be a nice anniversary dinner in the city.” Her voice only chokes up further as she speaks, arms gripping impossibly more tightly around herself. “And now I’m fucking drunk, and Keira’s only God knows where, and nothing’s—” Her quiet crying has advanced into loud sobbing that puts her words on the verge of incoherence. “And now I’m here, putting all of this on you, and it’s not your thing to deal with. I’m so sorry, Beca.”</p><p>General lack of affection be damned, Beca has a heart, and the sight of Chloe visibly crumpling before her breaks it right down the middle, melts the barrier of protective ice from around it instantaneously. It triggers her feet into action, until she is stepping forward to wrap Chloe into a tight, protective hug, one in which Chloe proceeds to entirely fall apart.</p><p>“Hey,” Beca soothes quietly, shoulders slumping beneath the feeling of Chloe’s fingers clinging desperately onto the fabric of her romper, “Hey, no, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter whose thing it is, okay? I’m here, Chlo.” Already, Chloe’s tears have begun to soak through the thin material of her outfit, but Beca doesn’t care.</p><p>It always was difficult for her to care about anything else with Chloe Beale in the room, after all.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Evidently, Beca has a habit of attracting her polar opposites. She always has done, in fact. Take Connie, for example; they are nothing alike, yet Beca considers Connie her best friend, trusts her with her entire life. Back in college, that was Chloe, too. Chloe, the vibrant, talkative ray of sunshine to Beca’s much more withdrawn raincloud. Following the initial breakdown, when Chloe finally begins to calm, Beca begins to see that side of her again.</p><p>“I really like your apartment,” Chloe says as Beca emerges from the bedroom, now changed into a much more comfortable ensemble of leggings and a loose fitting shirt. Clearly, she won’t be going out now; the uncomfortable romper had begun to feel even more unnecessary. By now, Chloe’s tears have stopped. She has shed her lacy black heels, and walks around the small living room barefoot, legs still a little unsteady and words still somewhat slurred.</p><p>“Yeah, it’s a real palace,” Beca jokes, tugging her long hair from beneath the neck of her shirt.</p><p>She doesn’t notice the fresh beer bottle in Chloe’s hand at first, not until she turns around. Evidently, Chloe registers the somewhat judgmental look Beca shoots her way, acknowledging it with a sideways glance toward the pre-rolled joint sitting on the small, cluttered coffee table.</p><p>“Touche,” Beca murmurs, doing her best to ignore the wink Chloe sends her way as she brings the bottle up to her lips.</p><p>In spite of her inebriation, Chloe hums as she continues to meticulously study the remainder of the small living room. It is the same way Beca finds herself studying Chloe, something she doesn’t realize she is doing at first. As soon as she does, however, she forces her gaze elsewhere, until it is landing on the bathroom door. “Uh, did you wanna get cleaned up?” she offers. “The shower’s broken, but the bath’s pretty nice.”</p><p>Chloe seems to think momentarily, before glancing down at the dried dirt covering her knees. She looks kind of embarrassed, and Beca feels like a dick for pointing it out. “I probably should, huh?”</p><p>“Probably. I mean, if you want to,” Beca shrugs as nonchalantly as possible, instinctively heading for the bathroom.</p><p>“Are you joining me?” Chloe questions. It isn’t until Beca whirls around with widened eyes that she sees the amusement displayed on Chloe’s face.</p><p>“Uh… What? No, I was just going to fix a bath for you,” she says somewhat awkwardly. She can feel the color splashing across her cheeks beneath Chloe’s quiet giggle, feels the spread of heat reaching the tips of her ears.</p><p>“I know how to fill a bath, Bec,” Chloe says, lips still curved upward as she reaches out to settle pale fingers delicately against Beca’s upper arm. Before Beca has the chance to respond, Chloe’s hand gives a gentle squeeze. Beca notices how her eyes shimmer, the way they are still so familiar to her even now, even with that distinct drunk gloss to them. “Thank you for this,” Chloe says sincerely, before finally letting go. “I’m really sorry that I ruined your night.”</p><p>“You didn’t,” Beca responds, and cannot help but register her own sincerity, too.</p><p>While Chloe chooses not to argue, Beca senses that they are going to agree to disagree here, so simply shoots her a small, genuine smile. She mentally kicks herself for the way she so intently watches her disappear into the bathroom.</p><p>Beca was only buzzed before, but all things considered, she feels stone-cold sober now. She uses the new clearer feeling and brief time with a vacated living room to quickly tidy up the empty bottles left behind by her friends. She checks her phone to see a text from Connie asking if everything is okay—as well as a group picture of the girls clearly having a blast—so Beca shoots her a quick response to let her know that she is fine. Her next question, however, causes Beca to pause in thought.</p><p><strong>Connie<br/></strong> <em>is chloe staying tonight?</em></p><p><strong>Beca<br/></strong> <em>i don’t know</em></p><p>Her lips twist into a slight frown as she watches the typing bubble pop up.</p><p><strong>Connie<br/></strong> <em>i’m gonna go to jay’s, she can have my room</em></p><p>Something about the offer, of knowing that if Chloe does decide to spend the night, they won’t be sharing a bed, causes Beca’s shoulders to relax slightly. It is a stupid feeling really, a stupid fear; they have shared a bed countless times before, after all. But this… Beca doesn’t know, she just has this <em>feeling</em>, one that she can’t quite put her finger on. Regardless, she quickly types back:</p><p><strong>Beca<br/></strong> <em>alright, thanks, i’ll let her know</em><br/><em>have a good night. be safe</em></p><p><strong>Connie<br/></strong> <em>you too 😉</em></p><p>Admittedly, Beca doesn’t quite understand the wink, though it does make her roll her eyes… And reach for that pre-rolled joint. She could use a little relaxation right now, she decides.</p><p>Before allowing herself to relax entirely, Beca realizes that a fresh change of clothes might be a good idea. She figures Chloe probably won’t want to put her dress back on, so with the newly lit joint held between her fingers, Beca heads for her bedroom, suddenly kind of embarrassed by the mess. Fortunately, she is able to find a clean pair of leggings and an oversized sweater pretty quickly, both of which she drapes over her arm, then makes her way toward the bathroom. The door isn’t closed all the way, so Beca knocks cautiously on the frame.</p><p>“Hey, uh, I brought you something to change into,” she calls through to Chloe, pushing back the distinct feeling that she is intruding. “I’ll just leave it out here, okay?”</p><p>There isn’t much of a beat before Chloe calls back, “What good is it out there?”</p><p>Immediately, Beca’s face wrinkles into a frown. “Uh…”</p><p>She hears Chloe’s quiet, melodic chuckle in response—her real chuckle, the one Beca could pick out in any crowd, even now. “You can come in, Bec. I used your bubbles, you won’t see anything.”</p><p>Although Beca is hit with an instant feeling of hesitation, she chooses not to deliberate for too long. Instead, she lifts the joint up to her mouth, holding it steadily between her lips, then cautiously pushes open the bathroom door. Bubbles or no bubbles, Beca makes a point of directing her gaze dutifully toward the wall, rather than at Chloe. It isn’t until she hears that same chuckle ringing through the air that she instinctively glances toward the tub, and mentally curses herself for doing so.</p><p>“That looks so weird, you know?” Chloe states, auburn brow arching a fraction, “You smoking.”</p><p>With the joint held between her lips still, Beca can’t really respond. So, she simply shrugs a shoulder, before setting the leggings and sweater down onto the closed toilet lid.</p><p>“Stay?”</p><p>The request causes Beca’s penciled brows to tug together, response mumbled around the joint. “What?”</p><p>“Stay,” Chloe repeats in a quiet voice, this time an instruction more than anything else. Beca takes note of the way she seems to sink down a little further into the water, almost like she is sinking in on herself.</p><p>“Uh,” Beca pauses, finally freeing her mouth. “While you’re taking a bath?”</p><p>Chloe simply shrugs a shoulder, the movement causing the bubbly water to sway a little. “Why not?”</p><p><em>Because that’s fucking weird?</em> Beca mentally responds. <em>Because you’re in the bath… Naked. And we’re not five?</em></p><p>Outwardly, however, she finds herself backing toward the toilet with a lifted brow, and reaching out to move the clothing items out of the way. Again cautiously, Beca perches down onto the closed lid, setting the leggings and sweater down in her lap. As awkward as she feels, she takes note of the way Chloe’s body seems to relax.</p><p>“You were right,” Chloe hums, hand rising from beneath the water to coast delicately over the bubbles. Fortunately, she does not misplace them, so Beca still can’t see anything—not that she is trying to. “It’s a nice bath.”</p><p>“It’s pretty decent,” Beca shrugs, bringing the joint up to her lips again to take another slow hit. It still feels weird, looking at Chloe as she soaks in the tub, so Beca forces her gaze around the bathroom, redundantly studying it in a way she has done many times before.</p><p>“How does it feel?” Chloe questions into the near silence. Beca’s brows only knit in response. “Living in New York. This is what you always wanted, right? To be in a big city?”</p><p>Elbows relaxing naturally onto her thighs, Beca thinks briefly over her response. “I mean, LA was always the dream,” she says with a small shrug. “New York’s cool too, though, sure.”</p><p>“<em>Was</em> the dream?” Chloe asks curiously. Beca notes from the corner of her eye the way her head tilts in thought. “It’s not anymore?”</p><p>The questioning look Beca sends her way speaks before her words do. “I mean, it’s a little late now.”</p><p>Again, the sound of Chloe’s melodic chuckle fills the room, and Beca has to fight herself to stay in the present, to not allow it to pull her back to college, because God, it is just so damn familiar, so damn <em>Chloe</em>.</p><p>“You’re thirty, Bec—”</p><p>“Twenty-nine,” Beca quickly corrects, cutting Chloe a stern glance.</p><p>“Right,” Chloe giggles quietly, “Twenty-nine. You have time.”</p><p>Ten years ago, Los Angeles was such a sure thing. It was Beca’s plan, it was <em>always</em> Beca’s plan, to move to LA and pursue her music, make something big of her talent. Over the years, it has become much more of a pipe dream, something that Beca has made her peace with losing. It is something she thinks about from time to time, something she quietly mourns. It is not something she talks about, though. Her life in New York is...fine. Beca can deal.</p><p>“What about you?” Beca begins nonchalantly, eager to change the subject. “You’re living in Jersey now, right?”</p><p>“Mhm,” Chloe nods, fingers still floating casually over the crisp white bubbles. “Not exactly where I saw myself, but sometimes things just work out the way they work out.”</p><p>As weird as this is, as awkward as the idea of sitting in the bathroom while Chloe Beale takes a bath right there in front of her is, Beca cannot help but find herself growing quickly more and more comfortable. That was always a power of Chloe’s, making Beca’s guard fall, helping her to relax.</p><p>(Of course, the weed could also totally be helping… But whatever.)</p><p>There is a comfortable quiet surrounding them, it is only broken by the soft sound of Chloe’s mumbled voice. “So much has changed since college, huh?”</p><p>“You could say that,” Beca chuckles in response, leaning comfortably forward onto her elbow. It is not solely because she doesn’t want to look at Chloe sitting in the bathtub that her gaze falls to the floor; it is because Beca is deep in thought, mostly about how right Chloe’s statement is. She really wishes it wasn’t. Sometimes, Beca really wishes she could go back, start all over again.</p><p>“College me would’ve done anything to be here with you, you know?”</p><p>Chloe’s voice is quiet, soft. There is something so comfortable about it, though, something so relaxed and sincere. It pulls the faintest smile to Beca’s lips in response, helps snap her out of the melancholy thoughts that her life is very much not where she expected it to be by now.</p><p>“I was so in love with you back then, Bec.”</p><p>It takes a second or two for Beca to register the addition. Her body seems to process it before her mind does, because Beca is positive her heart stops beating for a moment, and her pointed gaze begins to drift toward Chloe without mental instruction. “What?”</p><p>Chloe’s eyes are not on her. Instead, they stare at the bubbles beneath her hand, almost like she is studying them, maybe even kind of distracted by them. She speaks so casually, so sincerely; her demeanor causes Beca to shake. “I guess I never told you, huh?”</p><p>Mostly because this is something she has imagined so many times before, hearing those words come from Chloe Beale’s lips, Beca cannot be sure she is not in the middle of an elaborate dream. She stares at her with knitted brows, waiting for Chloe to correct herself. She doesn’t, though. She just keeps staring at the bubbles, finger gently swirling them around, and Beca’s sudden instinct is to laugh.</p><p>“You’re drunk, Chlo,” she finally says through a dry chuckle, bringing up a hand to rub at her forehead with her thumb. “You need to sleep.” Quickly, she clears her throat, suddenly very much aware of a lack of moisture in her mouth.</p><p>“Maybe,” Chloe hums.</p><p>Beca needs at least a gallon of water, she decides as she slowly stands from her position on the toilet seat. She feels like she is watching from the outside, like she is not actually in her own body anymore—and she really cannot even blame the weed. The clothes in her lap fall to the tiled floor in the process. “Uh, those are for you,” Beca says as she turns to make for the door. “Connie’s staying with her boyfriend, she says you can have her room for the night if you want to stay.”</p><p>Although Chloe responds, Beca doesn’t really hear her. She has already disappeared through the open door, tightly closing it behind her.</p><p>
  <em>I was so in love with you back then, Bec.</em>
</p><p>Chloe’s words not only finally sink in, but they begin to repeat themselves on a torturous, endless loop, and Beca has to lean back against the wall in an effort to steady herself.</p><p>Suddenly, she mentally wishes she could turn back time. She wishes she could go back to earlier in the evening, to insist she and her friends leave sooner, then nobody would’ve been here when Chloe arrived. Chloe Beale would not be soaking in her tub right now while Beca’s shaky legs carry her toward her bedroom, and she wouldn’t have had to hear those words, the ones that ring so deafeningly loudly in her ears now, the ones Beca wishes she’d never had to hear.</p><p>Beca cannot fall down this same hole again, she really, really can’t.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Beca has never really considered herself much of a hostess. In reality, she hasn’t had much practice; her friends treat this place like their own, coming and going as they please, and that is exactly the way both Beca and Connie like it. There is really no need for pleasantries.</p><p>It is probably not the best hostess move to make, shutting herself away in her bedroom without even bothering to show her guest where she will be staying. Chloe saw her disappearing into her room to change before, she knows which one is the bathroom, so it is probably obvious which room is Connie’s. Still, the quiet rasp of a balled fist against the door does not surprise her. It does pull Beca from a quiet daze, though, in which she is simply staring at the wall, trying to empty her currently overly crowded mind.</p><p>“Beca?” Chloe’s soft voice calls through, before the door begins to slowly open.</p><p>Quickly, Beca glances upward to be met by the sight of Chloe dressed comfortably in her leggings and blue sweater. The sweater is not quite as big on Chloe as it is on her, but the sleeves still cover her hands for the most part. Her fingers peek out from beneath the fabric, and Beca forces herself to look away before she can properly begin to search for sight of a ring. She doesn’t want to see one… She doesn’t know why.</p><p>“Um, I heard you right before, right? I’m okay to use Connie’s room for the night?”</p><p>Forcing herself up from the mattress, Beca gently nods her head. “Yeah,” she clarifies, pushing a small, feigned smile to her lips as she joins Chloe at the door. “Yeah, sorry, let me show you which one it is.”</p><p>Chloe responds with a grateful smile of her own, quietly following Beca across the small stretch of hallway and toward Connie’s bedroom. The mess of clothing strewn all over the floor makes Beca feel a little better about the state of her own room, though she has a feeling Chloe probably won’t even notice. She doesn’t seem to notice the fact that she said something totally inappropriate only moments before, after all.</p><p>“Do you want water or anything?” Beca offers as she holds open the door.</p><p>“Yeah,” Chloe nods, “I’ll go get it, though.”</p><p>By now, Beca is in no frame of mind to be hospitable. All she wants is to crawl into bed, bury herself beneath the covers, and try to forget the last little while. Perhaps it is kind of dramatic, but Beca cannot help the way she feels. So, rather than insist on helping her out, she simply relents with a nod of her head. “Alright, yeah. Uh,” she motions over her shoulder, “I’ll be in there if you need anything.”</p><p>(She hopes she doesn’t need anything.)</p><p>Again, Chloe graciously nods. “Okay,” she says in a soft voice, the kind smile rising to her lips something that once would’ve sent butterflies swirling throughout Beca’s body. The way she stretches over with no hesitation to push a small, delicate kiss to Beca’s rosy cheek would’ve done the same thing, but Beca tells herself that it doesn’t now. That feeling in her stomach, it is purely from the small amount of alcohol she consumed earlier, that is all. “Thank you again, Bec,” Chloe just above whispers, “I really appreciate this.”</p><p>That dry feeling begins to form once again in Beca’s throat. She does her best to swallow in an effort to quell it some, and only nods her head shortly in response. Her mind begins to swirl as she makes her way quietly toward her bedroom, to the privacy of her safe space for the night.</p><p>She doesn’t even bother to change out of her casual outfit, nor to remove her makeup. Instead, she pulls back the sheets in something of a zombie-like trance, and crawls into bed in much of the same manner.</p><p>Beca wants to silence her brain, to sleep and to shut out the rest of the world, the woman in the room across the hall included. The woman in the room across the hall <em>especially</em>, in fact.</p><p>She is fooling only herself in thinking that she can, of course.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. the feeling of your lips, it haunts me every day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Beca thinks back over her college years with Chloe, then decides to confront her about what she said last night.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter title from Pink's <i>Can We Pretend</i>.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Entirely unsurprisingly, despite her deep level of exhaustion, Beca doesn’t sleep much. She likely wouldn’t have anyway, not with the knowledge that Chloe is right there in the room across the hall, dressed in Beca’s clothes and just <em>being</em> Chloe Beale. However, it is not so much Chloe’s presence that keeps her up—it has been a long time since Chloe’s presence has kept her up at night. It is that lazily made revelation, the way those words continue to loop like an unwanted record in Beca’s tired mind.</p>
<p>
  <em>I was so in love with you back then, Bec.</em>
</p>
<p>It is an unfair statement, it really is. An unnecessary one now, too. And Beca wants to be mad, she really, really does, because it is terrible timing, and Beca is so over all of that now—she thinks she is over all of that now—but how can she? It’s not like she ever said anything, either. No matter how much she tried to push it down, Beca was head over heels in love with Chloe back then, too. And she never told her. She had the opportunity, but she just...she never took it.</p>
<p>And Beca cannot help but curse herself for that now.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Barden University, Georgia; Freshman Year.</strong>
</p>
<p>Beca does not want to be here.</p>
<p>It is not the first time the adamant thought has entered her mind, of course; unlike most eighteen year olds receiving their college acceptance packet, Beca’s heart had instantly sunk at the very sight of the large <em>Congratulations!</em> message peeking out from beneath the lip of the open envelope.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, thanks to her father’s job as an English professor at Barden University, Beca’s acceptance was always pretty much a sure thing. Regardless, she had clung tightly onto that hope that it wouldn’t happen, that she could ditch education for good, and catch the first flight out to Los Angeles, where she would finally be able to start living her life. <em>Her</em> life… Not her father’s. Hers.</p>
<p>No such luck, of course.</p>
<p>So, the thought that she does not want to be here is not a new one, despite it entering her mind the second she steps foot in her new shared dorm room—why she couldn’t just live with her dad, she still doesn’t know; she doesn’t care for ‘the experience’ the way he thinks she should—to see one bed laden with an annoyingly bright, floral bedspread, the same side of the room already covered in obnoxious pastel toned decorations.</p>
<p>“Wow, spacious!” Her father, Professor Francis Mitchell, states enthusiastically as he trails into the room only seconds behind her.</p>
<p>“I prefer my room at home,” Beca grumbles, trudging toward the other bed with her laptop bag held protectively in her arms.</p>
<p>“And that’ll be there for you during the holidays,” Francis reminds her, lugging a small suitcase of Beca’s belongings onto the mattress. The look of elation on his face is like an exact contradiction of Beca’s own feelings. “You’re gonna make so many memories here, Bec.”</p>
<p>Beca wants to protest, to try one more time to state her case about how pointless this is, and how she doesn’t want to be here, she doesn’t <em>need</em> to be here. She knows, however, that any attempt at an argument will be futile, so instead settles on a disgruntled, “I told you I didn’t need your help.”</p>
<p>Fortunately, by now, Francis is used to his grouchy teenage daughter, and the fact that she is yet to grow out of that distinct teen angst phase, so he doesn’t seem too deterred by her attitude. Rather than disappear like Beca wishes he would, he simply begins to tug at the zipper of her suitcase, much to Beca’s obvious disdain.</p>
<p>“Uh, Dad, can you...not?” she frowns, turning from the small desk where she has neatly placed down her laptop. “There’s, like, underwear and stuff in there.”</p>
<p>For his part, Francis takes a hasty step backward, holding up his hands in mock retreat. “Alright, I get it. You don’t need your old dad ruining move-in day for you. I’ll get out of your hair.”</p>
<p>Although Beca wants to tell him that move-in day is ruined already by its own mere existence, she bites back the comment. However, when Francis makes no signs of actually leaving, she turns to him with tightly folded arms. “Seriously, can you please just—”</p>
<p>“Right, right,” Francis nods his head dutifully, “I’m going. It’s just… My only daughter, a college freshman. This is pretty huge, Bec.”</p>
<p>“Can we save the sentimental shit for, like, fifty years from now,” Beca says with a slightly arched brow and the same blank expression on her face.</p>
<p>“Language,” Francis shoots back, though his voice does not raise. Apparently, he is just <em>that</em> excited about something he is literally forcing her into, and Beca only scoffs under her breath in response. “I’ll stop by in a little bit, okay?”</p>
<p>“Please don’t,” Beca grumbles quietly, busy once more with setting up her MacBook in its prime location on her new desk. Fortunately, Francis has already dipped from the room, so Beca doesn’t have to deal with a response.</p>
<p>Apparently, however, the solitude Beca so desperately craves is somewhat out of reach today, because she has been alone for less than five minutes when the door bursts open to reveal an unfamiliar, slightly flushed looking redhead wearing a blue dress that looks way more suited to a children’s birthday party than something a college student should be wearing.</p>
<p>“Oh, hey!” she greets brightly, making her way into the room and quietly closing the door behind her. “I’m so sorry, I really wanted to be here when you arrived, but I figured I’d miss the whole activities fair if I waited around any longer. You must be Beca, right?” She doesn’t even give Beca the chance to respond before saying with an outstretched hand, “It’s great to meet you, I’m Chloe.”</p>
<p>“Likewise,” Beca responds flatly, staring at the extended hand for a short moment, before dutifully reaching out to shake it.</p>
<p>Chloe’s vibrant smile remains fixed in place, even as the two part from their brief handshake, and it is only at that point that Beca takes note of the almost unnaturally blue color of her eyes. Beca is sure it has to be the lighting in the sickeningly bright white room, but they somehow seem to literally sparkle, and Beca catches herself awkwardly staring. In turn, she quickly pulls her gaze away, throat clearing in the process.</p>
<p>“So, when did you get here?” Chloe asks, evidently entirely oblivious to the inappropriate eye-lock. “This place is so cool, huh?”</p>
<p>“Uh, few minutes ago,” Beca responds, glancing toward the mostly untouched suitcase laid out on her bed. “I didn’t really…” she motions toward Chloe’s brightly decorated side of the room, “bring anything decorative. Just clothes and my computer and stuff.”</p>
<p>“That’s okay!” Chloe chirps, helping herself to the edge of Beca’s mattress, where she plops herself down gracefully. “This is your side of the room, you decorate it however you want to.”</p>
<p>Beca only flashes her a polite smile in return, before—in true Beca fashion—deciding that their conversation is surely over, and turning back toward her desk.</p>
<p>Chloe, on the other hand, seems to have other ideas, though Beca doesn’t quite hear her rising from the bed and floating toward her, not until Chloe speaks and Beca practically jumps out of her skin.</p>
<p>“What’s that?” Chloe questions curiously, chin practically resting against Beca’s shoulder in an effort to get a closer look at her computer.</p>
<p>“Whoa, dude,” Beca jumps, casting Chloe a confused look. “You’ve never seen a computer before?”</p>
<p>“No,” Chloe says with a light, breathy chuckle, “Not that. I meant what’s on the screen?”</p>
<p>Beca is guilty of never really closing down her applications properly; she simply slams down the lid when she grows tired of whatever she may be working on, then pulls it right back up where she left off afterwards. She glances toward the screen now to see her music editing software displayed front and center, but quickly reaches out to shut the lid. “Oh. Nothing,” she says with an awkward clear of her throat. “Personal space is, like, a thing... You know that, right?”</p>
<p>While Chloe seems to bristle slightly in response, she doesn’t actually look upset by the comment. She only grimaces for half a second, before gently shrugging a shoulder. “Oops, sorry.” Regardless, she takes a small step back, though her voice is just as light and airy as she continues, eyes beginning to sparkle again with distinct wonder. “I found out that there’s a party tonight, I definitely think we should go.”</p>
<p>“We?” Beca questions with a slightly arched brow. Chloe nods, so Beca proceeds with diverted eyes. “Uh, yeah, no. Parties aren’t really my thing.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Chloe responds somewhat defeatedly, nose scrunching as she folds her bare arms across her middle. Beca does her best not to focus on how defined the muscles are, because <em>Jesus</em>. “Isn’t that kind of what college is for, though?”</p>
<p>By now, Chloe has begun to drift toward her own neatly made bed, and Beca doesn’t fully understand why she is watching her movements so intently. Chloe is pretty… In fact, that seems like an understatement. But Beca is not a people person, she doesn’t care to sit around and study people, but something is drawing her to Chloe, and Beca chooses not to even mentally question what.</p>
<p>Noting the silence between them—and, specifically, the fact that it does not, for some reason, feel awkward at all—Beca finally responds with a small shrug. “I don’t know. Yeah, I guess so.” Honestly, she has been so adamant on <em>not</em> attending college that she has refrained from even thinking about it, the social aspect included.</p>
<p>“Exactly,” Chloe hums, bare legs folding neatly one atop the other as she perches comfortably on her mattress. Her palms are flattened down behind her, holding her upright, and a part of Beca thinks she might be staring a bit too hard, might need to tear her gaze away in a moment, but something inside of her seems to stop her, and she takes note of the triumphant smile rising to Chloe’s lips in response. “So, you’ll come with me, right?”</p>
<p>Beca only clears her throat, finally forcing herself to turn her body with the intention of getting started on finally unpacking. “I don’t know, maybe. Probably not,” she shrugs.</p>
<p>Chloe does not push, but they both know Beca is going to relent, anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Junior Year.</strong>
</p>
<p>Somehow, each new frat party manages to become more and more repetitive, less and less appealing than the last. Honestly, Beca hadn’t even liked the first one, but like Chloe had said to her on their first ever day at Barden University, <em>this is kind of what college is for</em>, so in the interest of not becoming a total recluse, Beca has resigned herself to bad tasting beer and poorly put together playlists, and even manages to pretend like she’s having something resembling a good time.</p>
<p>Chloe generally makes that easier for her, of course. Honestly, it is kind of impossible to <em>not</em> have a good time whenever Chloe is around. Chloe is so vibrant, clutches onto life and loves it so deeply that even someone as hopelessly withdrawn as Beca cannot help but absorb some of her enthusiasm. Tonight is different, though.</p>
<p>Normally, where Chloe would continually check in with her, where they would dance together despite the fact that Beca hates dancing, there is a distinct lack of her presence, and as Beca’s gaze catches sight of Tom and whoever the girl draping herself all over him may be, she knows exactly why that is.</p>
<p>Freshly filled red solo cup held in each hand, Beca weaves through the many drunken party-goers, offering half-hearted smiles to those she makes accidental eye contact with, before her gaze lands on the sight of bright red hair and shiny blue eyes, though there is a certain sadness in them tonight that causes a sharp pull in Beca’s heart. She is mindful of keeping any sympathy from her expression as she approaches, however, and simply offers Chloe a kind smile as she plops down on the arm of the couch beside her.</p>
<p>“She’s not even pretty,” Chloe scoffs as she reaches out to take one of the cups from Beca’s hand. She is already holding her signature yellow cup in the other, but apparently Chloe is not above double-fisting tonight, and Beca figures she won’t try to stop her. Before Beca gets a chance to agree, Chloe lets out a long sigh. “No, that was mean. She is, she’s really pretty.”</p>
<p>“You’re prettier,” Beca says without thought, gaze studying Chloe’s profile as Chloe’s eyes train themselves on the trainwreck that is Tom and his new girlfriend.</p>
<p>The corners of Chloe’s lips only turn upward slightly, before she tips back the remainder of whatever is in the yellow cup in one long gulp.</p>
<p>Beca doesn’t fully understand Chloe’s feelings. She and Tom were never exclusive, never even went on any dates. They were just...something for each other to do, for lack of a better term. They were routine, though Chloe has always been much more faithful to that routine than Tom has, so maybe it makes sense, the fact that Chloe is feeling however she is currently feeling. Either way, Beca doesn’t like it; she doesn’t like when Chloe feels anything but entirely happy.</p>
<p>“You wanna get out of here?” Beca suggests, chancing a quick glance toward Tom—who is totally not hot enough for Chloe, but that is a whole other conversation—then fixing her gaze on Chloe again. “We have beer at home, and we can even watch one of those shitty romcoms you like.”</p>
<p>Again, Beca notes the way Chloe’s lips curl upward, before she turns to lock her appreciative gaze with Beca’s. “Yeah,” she nods her head gently, “That sounds better than this.”</p>
<p>Admittedly, when Beca had walked into her new dorm room on her very first day of freshman year and seen the obnoxiously brightly colored decorations at Chloe’s side of the room, she had instantly thought about how she was not going to get along with her new roommate, and how at least she would be able to pick her own living space once sophomore year rolled around. She had never expected that she’d <em>choose</em> for that space to be with Chloe, but two years later and here they are, unlocking the door to their small, off-campus house, and closing the rest of the world out behind them.</p>
<p>Of course, they do not live here alone; they are college students, they have two other girls living with them, but the darkened living room (and the fact that it is Friday night) is evidence enough that they have the place to themselves for now, and secretly, that is the way Beca likes it.</p>
<p>Chloe is a wine drinker; Beca is not. So, while Chloe flicks through Netflix in search of a movie Beca won’t actually like but will happily agree to anyway, mostly because she knows they won’t really watch it and will spend the entire time talking like they usually do, Beca grabs herself a cold bottle of beer from the fridge, as well as the remainder of Chloe’s wine and a glass, before making her way back to their living room to find Chloe curled up comfortably on the couch.</p>
<p>“Do you ever feel like we’re getting too old for frat parties?” Beca questions, casually plopping down into the space beside Chloe.</p>
<p>Chloe only looks at her with a lifted brow, reaching out to accept the wine bottle and accompanying glass. “Um… Not really, grandma,” she teases, gently tapping the bottom of the bottle against Beca’s arm.</p>
<p>Beca’s cheeks flush in response, and she shoots Chloe a playful scowl. “Whatever. I just mean I like this better.”</p>
<p>This time, as Chloe begins to pour wine into her glass, she offers Beca a small, appreciative smile, head nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I like this, too.”</p>
<p>Beca doesn’t mean to stare in response, she doesn’t mean for her gaze, focused if not slightly tipsy, to lock the way it does with Chloe’s, but in reality, this is not a new thing. There was something incredibly captivating about Chloe the very first time Beca laid eyes on her, whether she even realized it at first or not, and it only seems to have grown with time.</p>
<p>So, this isn’t a new thing, the two of them sitting here, closely together in a quiet room, wordlessly studying one another in a way that feels so strangely intimate. And, as usual, Beca is the one to break the silent connection.</p>
<p>“Did you pick a movie?” she asks, stealing herself to focus on twisting the cap from her beer bottle.</p>
<p>It is easy with Chloe. Putting aside those lingering looks, those intense moments where Beca feels a distinct vibration in her heart and a pull in her stomach, being with Chloe is easy, and despite the fact that, as the movie starts, Beca knows already that she has absolutely no interest in it, she feels incredibly peaceful. Even more so as Chloe scoots closer, until Beca is naturally twisting her body to accommodate the way Chloe leans against her, arm draping comfortably over her shoulder, and suddenly the rowdy frat party is a distant memory.</p>
<p>At least to Beca, anyway.</p>
<p>“Bec, do you think I’m boring?” Chloe’s quiet voice asks over the movie as she absentmindedly plays with Beca’s fingers.</p>
<p>“What?” Beca questions with tightly knitted brows. She glances downward at the same time as Chloe’s head tips to stare toward her, and Beca quickly shakes her head. “Dude, no. You’re, like, the least boring person I know.”</p>
<p>Chloe only shrugs at that, mouth twisting in thought. “Tom thinks I’m boring.”</p>
<p>“He said that?”</p>
<p>“No,” Chloe says with a small shake of her head. “Just a feeling, I guess.”</p>
<p>Beca responds with a deep frown, body shuffling slightly beneath Chloe. “Well, feelings are wrong sometimes.”</p>
<p>There is a slight pause then, one in which Chloe’s gaze moves to their intertwined hands, before slowly drifting back up to Beca’s face. “Are they?”</p>
<p>Something about Chloe’s question, about the way her intent gaze seems to lock so easily with her own, causes Beca’s cheeks to suck inward slightly, causes her to think that there is something more personal to the conversation now, something that Beca is scared to really explore.</p>
<p>Mostly because she has silently explored it in her own head so many times now, so many times that it physically pains her to do so anymore.</p>
<p>Outwardly, Beca only lamely shrugs a shoulder, and as much as she wants to look away, to pretend to focus on the movie in which she has absolutely no idea what is happening, she finds that she just...can’t.</p>
<p>“I don’t think they’re ever wrong,” Chloe says in a smaller, yet somehow more sure tone of voice.</p>
<p>And Beca doesn’t know why she does it, she doesn’t know what it is that draws her to lean down to brush a gentle peck to the apple of Chloe’s cheek—Chloe does it to her all the time, but Beca doesn’t—but it just feels like one of those moments, those <em>right</em> moments.</p>
<p>She doesn’t know why she doesn’t pull away, even as Chloe twists her face to push a soft kiss to her cheek in return. She doesn’t know why she doesn’t freak out and move back when their faces are so close to one another’s that there is barely a gap between them, that Chloe’s sparkling eyes almost blur because they’re staring into Beca’s from so close up. She doesn’t know why she doesn’t move, not even as Chloe tilts her face, this time to almost cautiously press her lips, parted and inviting, to Beca’s. She doesn’t know why she kisses her back, but she does.</p>
<p>She doesn’t know why she insists on pulling away then.</p>
<p>Slowly, Beca leans back to stare down at Chloe’s face, mouth hanging open slightly as she replays the last few moments over in her mind. They are not drunk—tipsy, yes, but not <em>drunk</em>—there is no outside force to blame for them sitting here on their couch, curled up together and <em>kissing</em>… Other than maybe Chloe’s sadness.</p>
<p>That has to be it, Beca decides. Chloe is just sad, she’s looking for a bit of comfort, and Beca is the closest person to her, the closest person to provide that. That has to be it.</p>
<p>But Chloe doesn’t take it back. She doesn’t apologize—not that she has anything to apologize for. She doesn’t say anything, she just stares up at Beca patiently, allows her gaze to drop to her lips, the ones that’d previously been pushing to her own, and just like always, Beca is the first one to finally break the silence.</p>
<p>“We should finish the movie, Chlo,” she says in a small voice, sinking back slightly into the corner of the couch. “Let’s just...let’s finish the movie.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>Beca and Connie’s Apartment, New York City; Present.</strong>
</p>
<p>At some point, granted not for any healthy length of time, Beca had somehow managed to fall asleep. The advantages of marijuana, she supposes; at least she’ll always have her trusty Indica to aid her in that regard, even if it had not worked quite as effectively last night as she would’ve really liked.</p>
<p>It is not exactly with a clear head that Beca’s lids finally flutter open to take in the bright light of daytime spilling in through the blinds she had apparently forgotten to close last night, and, unsurprisingly, her mind instantly shoots toward the person currently occupying her roommate’s bedroom. It is not like Chloe has left her thoughts all night, anyway.</p>
<p>Beca doesn’t know what time it is. She knows it is early, judging by the sound of outside traffic and the almost deafening silence of the apartment, though. Presumably, Chloe isn’t awake yet, and there is no sign of Connie’s arrival, so Beca decides that taking a quick bath to wash away the night prior might be a good idea. God, she really wishes they had a working shower; that would be <em>so</em> much more convenient.</p>
<p>By the time she is done and dressed in a clean outfit of jeans and a tight fitting sweater, Beca can hear movement coming from Connie’s bedroom. A part of her thinks she should just hang back, wait for Chloe to emerge and they can say their awkward goodbyes, then go another few years without a word from one another.</p>
<p>It is that same thought, though, the idea that they are likely not going to see each other again after this, that has Beca wondering if she should say something to Chloe, if she should bring up the discussion they’d had last night in the bathroom. Not that it can be considered much of a discussion, Beca supposes. More so a revelation, a drunken one that shouldn’t matter, but that has been circulating Beca’s tired, overcrowded mind all night.</p>
<p>Perhaps it is because of that, those intrusive, overcrowded thoughts, that Beca decides, maybe dangerously, on the latter. It is not as if Chloe’s statement had been one-sided, after all. Beca won’t admit it—before now, not even to herself—but distancing from Chloe after college had not been entirely accidental. Beca has been in love one time in her twenty-nine years on Earth, and it was not the magical, beautiful experience written about in fictional stories. It was torturous and painful, because Beca wasn’t supposed to feel the way she was feeling; as far as she knew, right up until as recently as last night, in fact, it was always one-sided. So, as she knocks on the bedroom door with a fresh mug of coffee held in each hand, Beca cannot help the feeling that she is literally walking into the lion’s den.</p>
<p>Somehow, though, the thought does not deter her, and as Chloe calls for her to come in, Beca does so with a small, cautious smile on her face, coffee mugs held upward almost like a peace offering, despite the fact that they are not exactly in a fight.</p>
<p>“Is that coffee?” Chloe croaks, pushing herself slowly upright from her position previously curled in the corner of Connie’s bed.</p>
<p>“Sure is,” Beca nods, carefully making her way toward the bed, then easily handing off one of the mugs to a now seated Chloe.</p>
<p>“Thank God,” Chloe groans, free hand rising to rub at her forehead as the other reaches out to wrap her fingers neatly around the warm ceramic of the coffee mug.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I figured you’d need it,” Beca chuckles quietly, instinctively perching herself down on the edge of the mattress. Cautiously, so as not to spill her drink, she twists her body until her legs are curling pretzel style beneath her, and casts a curious look Chloe’s way. Even after all these years, Chloe is still somehow so familiar to her, so damn easy for her to be around. “How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>Chloe takes a slow sip from her mug, features instantly relaxing as she savors the taste. “Like I drank an entire bar’s worth of alcohol and then threw up in your bathroom,” she says in that same croaky voice, apologetic look twisting onto her face. “I’m really sorry… Again.”</p>
<p>Beca only chuckles again in response, offering Chloe something of a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry about it.” She pauses then to finally take a sip from her own mug. The contents are hot, but Beca welcomes the feeling, the sensation of some kind of grounding reality in a situation that still feels so unbelievable to her.</p>
<p>The silence to surround them does not feel uncomfortable, which is entirely strange to Beca, all things considered. Then again, nothing was ever uncomfortable with Chloe, despite all of the reasons Beca had to feel as such. Her gaze subtly flickers toward Chloe from over her mug, unintentionally studying the softness to her familiar features, the subtle way her nose curves and her eyes crinkle delicately as she sips from her drink.</p>
<p>Eventually, Beca lowers the mug to her lap, balancing the warm base against her thigh. She uses it as a distraction, glancing down toward it as she opens her mouth to speak. “Hey, so,” Beca begins with a small, awkward puff of a laugh and a clear of her throat. “Uh, that thing you said last night… Maybe we could talk about it now?”</p>
<p>Chloe hums quietly as she pouts her lips to blow gently over the hot contents of her drink. “What thing?”</p>
<p>It is a simple question, just two small, one syllable words, but the sound of them causes Beca’s heart to jump into her throat. A part of her wonders if she had imagined the whole thing, if this is all some elaborate dream brought on by Chloe’s very presence at her apartment door. Realistically, she knows that that is not the case, because Beca can still picture it so clearly. If she closes her eyes, she is back in the bathroom down the hall, the sickeningly clean smell of bubbles filling her nose and Chloe’s words sinking into her ears, then seeping directly into her fragile heart.</p>
<p>
  <em>I was so in love with you back then, Bec.</em>
</p>
<p>Swallowing back her nerves, Beca continues with another quick clear of her throat. “You know, um, when you said—”</p>
<p>“I was drunk last night, Bec,” Chloe says in such a breezy tone that it slices through Beca like the coldest, harshest knife. “I don’t remember saying anything.”</p>
<p>This time, Beca isn’t even going to try to push. Honestly, she couldn’t if she wanted to, because it seems that she has lost the use of her voice for a solid few seconds, and the calm look on Chloe’s face as she sips slowly on her coffee terrifies Beca beyond belief.</p>
<p>Finally, she pulls herself from her stupor—her second Chloe Beale-induced stupor in less than twenty-four hours—with an intentionally diverted gaze, head nodding dutifully. “Right, yeah,” Beca says in a smaller voice. “Yeah, you were. Ignore me.” There is only a small beat before Beca begins to shuffle backward. “Uh, I actually have a ton to do today, so I’m just gonna…” she motions toward the door, and Chloe politely nods her head as Beca rises from the mattress.</p>
<p>For the second time during Chloe’s impromptu visit, Beca finds herself backing quickly out of the room with a racing heart to lean back against the hard wood of the closed door, eyes slamming tightly shut.</p>
<p>“So, that’s Chloe, huh?”</p>
<p>“Dude!” Beca almost drops the mug held loosely in her hand, widened eyes narrowing in on Connie’s amused expression.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Connie says, taking a small step back and holding up her hands in retreat. “I wasn’t, like, intentionally sneaking around. I thought you heard me come in.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, I didn’t,” Beca snaps, finally pushing herself up from her slumped back position against the bedroom door. She notes that her legs are somewhat unsteady.</p>
<p>Connie responds with an arched brow, last night’s thick makeup dotted beneath her eyes. “Dude, how wasted were you last night?”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t,” Beca scoffs, protective walls suddenly pulled up tightly around her. “She was.” She motions toward Connie’s bedroom door with a pointed thumb, before heading toward her own bedroom. It does not surprise her in the least that Connie follows.</p>
<p>“Are you going to tell me why you’re acting...however you’re acting right now?” Connie questions, closing Beca’s bedroom door quietly behind her—a feat really; Connie is never quiet.</p>
<p>“I’m not acting like anything,” Beca lies, though they both know Connie knows her well enough to know when there is something going on. Regardless, she heads for the messy, open closet, kneeling down in front of it to set down her mug and to inexplicably begin to pull out crumpled clothes that really need to be on their individual hangers. Organizing them <em>right now</em> suddenly feels very important to Beca.</p>
<p>“Right. You’re sunshine today,” Connie deadpans as she makes her way toward the bed, where she plops herself down messily amidst the unmade covers. Because she is Connie, she leans over to tug open Beca’s top drawer, from which she pulls everything she needs to roll them a fresh joint. Nothing sounds more appealing to Beca right now, to be honest, so she doesn’t send her away. Not that she really could; Chloe is still occupying her room, after all.</p>
<p>For a few moments, they remain in silence; Connie fixing the joint while Beca continues to pull at fallen clothing items, before the door slowly pushes open following a small knock. Beca glances over her shoulder to be greeted by the sight of Chloe wearing last night’s dress, Beca’s clothes folded neatly over her arm.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Connie greets casually, bringing the newly rolled joint up to her lips.</p>
<p>“Hi,” Chloe says pleasantly, “How was your night?”</p>
<p>“Pretty cool,” Connie responds, though she is mid-inhale, so doesn’t offer up much more. She does, however, hold out the joint toward Chloe, who politely shakes her head.</p>
<p>“Um, Bec,” Chloe says, this time turning her attention to Beca. “I’m gonna head out. Where do you want me to put your clothes?”</p>
<p>“You could’ve just kept them,” Beca says, though motions toward a free space on the bed, so Chloe dutifully scurries over to rest them down in a neat pile.</p>
<p>Although she is not looking at her, Beca can feel the way Connie is glancing between the two of them, most likely studying their body language. Connie is pretty good at that, at reading people. Beca can only hope she cannot read <em>exactly</em> what is going on here—partially because even Beca doesn’t quite understand that.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Chloe says politely. “For the clothes, and for letting me stay here.” She glances toward Connie briefly, who offers her a gracious nod of her head.</p>
<p>“Yeah, sure. Of course,” Beca says, and she knows that it is intentional, the way she will not allow herself to meet Chloe’s familiar gaze. Regardless, she pushes herself up from the floor, dusting off the knees of her faded jeans. “I’ll walk you out.”</p>
<p>Chloe only sends her an appreciative smile, and Beca can feel the way both Chloe’s and Connie’s eyes bore into her as she trudges from the closet and toward the door, ushering Chloe along with her.</p>
<p>As expected, Chloe’s departure is kind of awkward. Chloe leans in, in a very typical Chloe fashion, to pull Beca into a tight hug, though Beca stiffens in her arms, and only responds with a quick pat to her back, before both are straightening away from one another.</p>
<p>Beca’s feelings are entirely mixed as she finally closes the door, instinctively locking it as if to lock Chloe out permanently. On one hand, she is filled with a distinct sadness at the idea of this likely being the last time she will see Chloe Beale for at least another few years, but another part of her is grateful. Beca really does not need to stumble down that old path again, to explore those old feelings that Chloe apparently doesn’t even remember dredging back up. It is really not fair to either of them; they have their own lives now, Beca has Scott and Chloe has...whoever Keira is. They really do not need to go back down that dark road again, so Beca doesn’t really know how to feel as she shuffles back toward her bedroom, finding Connie still seated comfortably on her bed.</p>
<p>“So, what happened?” Connie questions curiously, hand outstretched to offer Beca the joint.</p>
<p>And Beca wants to lie, to insist that it is nothing, but she spent so many years holding back everything where Chloe Beale is concerned, the idea of doing so again feels entirely draining to her. Instead of putting those walls up further, Beca gratefully reaches out to accept the offering, then plops down onto the bed beside her roommate, eyes closing and head shaking in disbelief.</p>
<p>It is a very condensed version of events, the one Beca explains to Connie as they finish off their joint. She touches on college, about how Chloe was...<em>something</em> to her, and she tells her what Chloe had said in the bathtub last night. Connie, all the while, listens intently, and not once does Beca feel like she is judging her, which helps her to feel more at peace with getting everything off her chest.</p>
<p>(A condensed everything, at least.)</p>
<p>“No offense, Becs, I know she’s your friend, but that was so fucked up of her,” Connie finally says, though there is no venom in her voice. If anything, she just seems concerned, and as much as it is instinct for Beca to want to protect and defend Chloe, she also understands. If the tables were turned, if this was a ghost from Connie’s past coming back to haunt her in that same torturous way, Beca would not take kindly to it at all.</p>
<p>“Yeah, maybe,” is all Beca says in response, nimble fingers running through her still damp hair. “I don’t know, she was drunk, so it’s whatever.”</p>
<p>“So?” Connie responds with a wrinkled nose. “Dude, she wasn’t, like, black-out. She could walk and form coherent sentences, right? Telling you something like that… I don’t know, just seems kind of fucked up.”</p>
<p>Although Beca does not outwardly disagree, she does shoot Connie an almost helpless look, one that Connie responds to with the kind of sad smile that is reserved only for shitty breakups and particularly terrible work days.</p>
<p>“You should tell her,” Connie urges, “Send her a text, tell her it wasn’t fair to show up here and unload all of that on you. I get that she’s clearly going through some shit right now, but you matter, too.”</p>
<p>“It’s not about who does and doesn’t matter,” Beca frowns, gaze down on the loose thread she has resorted to picking at on the bed sheets. “I don’t have her number, anyway.”</p>
<p>Connie scoffs at that, and Beca knows her intention as she stretches over the side of the bed to retrieve Beca’s laptop. Regardless, she doesn’t stop her, not even as Connie lifts it to settle on the bed between them. In fact, Beca reaches out to lazily input the password, though she leaves the rest up to Connie.</p>
<p>“Everyone has Facebook,” Connie shrugs, quickly pulling up the site. “What’s her last name?”</p>
<p>“Beale,” Beca responds. “I’m not gonna message her, though.”</p>
<p>“But aren’t you even curious?” Connie questions with something of a devilish glimmer to her eye as she begins to type Chloe’s information into the search bar.</p>
<p>“About what?” Beca frowns, though she continues to watch as Connie scrolls through a couple profiles, before Beca notices that familiar red hair. “That one.”</p>
<p>Connie doesn’t answer the question. She does, however, click on the profile, one that proves to be largely private, save for a header picture of Chloe and a group of nameless faces, as well as a profile picture displaying Chloe and a beautiful brunette, both seated closely side by side and beaming at the camera with their hands intertwined.</p>
<p>“Who’s the hot chick with her?” Connie questions, clicking on the picture to enlarge it. Beca quickly pulls her gaze away, the upclose image of Chloe and her girlfriend—or whoever Keira is to her—causing a sickening swirl in her stomach.</p>
<p>“Probably Keira,” Beca mumbles, going back to lazily pulling at the thread beneath her crossed legs.</p>
<p>“And Keira is…”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, her girlfriend or something,” Beca shrugs.</p>
<p>Apparently, she is tagged in the picture, because when Beca glances upward again, Connie is scrolling through a different profile, this time with more visible pictures than just the main profile one. And Beca is curious, she really is, but she really doesn’t care to torture herself further, so she goes back to the thread, as if it is suddenly the most interesting thing she has ever seen, until Connie’s startled voice pulls her from her thoughts.</p>
<p>“Shit, she has a kid?”</p>
<p>“What?” Beca questions, gaze immediately snapping toward the screen. “Chloe? No, she doesn’t have a… Does she?”</p>
<p>“I mean, according to this she does,” Connie shrugs, turning the screen for Beca to get a better look. “Read that caption.”</p>
<p>Clear as day, beside a picture of a young girl with long brunette curls and wide, deep brown eyes sitting in Chloe’s lap, both showing off their beaming grins, the caption reads: <em>Guess we know who’s baby girl’s favorite parent!</em></p>
<p>“Dude, what the fuck…” Beca frowns, words quiet and disbelieving as she pulls the laptop closer toward her.</p>
<p>There is a brief silence, Connie likely allowing Beca to digest this new piece of information, before it is cut short by a loud, familiar voice echoing from the apartment door.</p>
<p>“Beca?”</p>
<p>Beca freezes at that, nostrils flaring as she glances toward Connie. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she whines, head tipping back in frustration. Now is really not the time, not when she is trying to take in the bomb she is currently digesting.</p>
<p>“Beca!” Scott calls again, knocking a couple times on the door. “Babe, you in there? Why’s the door locked?”</p>
<p>Beca only sucks in a long breath through her nose, hands lifting upward to rub at her tired eyes.</p>
<p>“Beca?”</p>
<p><em>Fuck</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Find me <a href="http://chloebeale.tumblr.com">here</a>, and <a href="https://chloebeale.tumblr.com/post/635441670184402944/bechloe-au-back-in-college-beca-was-so-in-love">here is the gif set</a> this fic is based on!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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